the magicians' operation
by Frozen Dewdrops
Summary: Magicians, the humans called us, because we could do things they could only dream of doing. And they believed that this magic was the solution to all their problems. (au, full summary inside.)


**the magicians' operation**

* * *

_If you can be saved, I want to do it, _

_If I can save you, I'll do it at all costs._

* * *

**0.**

The night is cold, the boy notes as he treads barefoot across the ground. The breeze that accompanies the dark, moonless sky drains any warmth he has, chilling him down to the bone.

He shivers for a moment and contemplates heading back to the hotel, regretting that he sneaked out without swiping a jacket to cover his bare arms. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he shakes his head and treks on - being a little cold would be better then having one of the others catch him in the act.

Nine would never let him live it down, and he can already hear the older boy's laughter at the thought of "Protocol Guy" breaking the curfew repeatedly underneath the noses of their Cepans. The thought twists into his mouth into a tight scowl, and he launches a swift, compact punch where he imagines Nine's face would be, satisfying the boy greatly.

Better not mention this to him.

However, the boy still does not feel at ease, and something unsettling stirs within him.

For some reason, the normally tranquil silence unnerves him tonight, bearing down on him like a heavy weight that hampers his shallow breathing. Each step he takes sinks slightly into the carpet of fallen leaves that blanket the forest floor, and the seemingly deafening crunch that follows each one makes him wince as he proceeds forward.

It's too quiet, much too quiet, he thinks.

He hears (no, feels) his veins pulsing in his head, and the steady rhythm that throbs in his ears is slowly speeding up. It upsets him, more than it should, and his fingers twitch erratically, tingling with what feels like agitation. Suddenly, he feels like a marionette uselessly dangling from its strings before the booing spectators, and he fidgets in his discomfort.

Why does he feel like he can no longer do anything? What is it that he feels stirring deep with in him? It feels much too intrusive, as though someone has reached inside him and grabbed his heart.

"That can't actually happen," he murmurs out loud unknowingly. "No. It's not possible."

(Then why does he feel so scared? This isn't like him!)

He pauses for a moment, and a stick snaps behind him.

The boy jolts, the sound like a gunshot fired in the thick atmosphere. Whirling around, his eyes frantically scan the surroundings, a foreboding sense of dread digging a way into his heart. His breath runs short as a tinging sensation creeps up his neck because he knows there's something watching him.

"Who's there?" his voice, hoarse with fear, asks into the night.

He stands there, motionless, as if he can somehow melt into the landscape and disappear, paralyzed by a shock of muted horror. He can feel himself shaking, in anticipation of something, the pulsing in his head only speeding up more and more.

(Calm down! Inhale, now exhale. Inhale, exhale.)

He clenches his fists to the point they quiver and shouts with whatever is left of his voice.

"I know you're out there, come out!"

For a moment a shadow in the distance seems to shift and transform, creeping towards him, and paranoia's shrill wailing fills his ears.

(You're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to - )

The dark shape grows tall as it exits the shadows beyond the trees in the distance, the moonlight reflecting eerily off such pale skin. Towering and white, whatever the monstrosity is quietly approaches him, and the only thing that comes to the boy's mind is a drowned, dead corpse, something akin the creatures found the horror stories that the humans told of.

Thing is, this one is real, and he's actually scared.

The realization barely reaches his brain before a flash of light soars past him and strikes the tree he is standing next to, the splinters flying in all directions - sinking into his arm, side, and face. He has to bite down hard on his lip to prevent a scream from escaping, and his eyes well up with tears from all the pain he is processing.

But out of the corner of his eye, he can see it.

Protruding from the tree is a thin blade radiating with a such malicious aura he can almost choke on it. A second one nearly splits the trunk clean in half, and that is when the boy turns around and runs like there is no tomorrow.

From the looks of it, there might not be another one.

He pushes himself to sprint like his life depends on it (and it does, he notes), weaving between the haze blurred trees at unbelievably inhumane speeds. He bats away low hanging branches with swift swats, tearing them off the trees and letting them fly off the sides.

Behind him, he can hear the cacophonous crashing of trees as they are felled in swift successions, his pursuers making no efforts to retain an element of surprise. Its gradual crescendo drives a sharp spike of panic deep through his heart.

(Damn it, he has to run faster! Anything to make the throbbing in his head stop - Argh, it's getting louder! Make it stop!)

He can scarcely comprehend the scenery as he tears through, faster and faster, everything passing by as dark shades smeared across a canvas. He can feel it, an uplifting sensation in his legs, and any pain in them is numbed to the point he cannot recognize any of it.

(Get away, get away! Why won't it stop?)

The multitude of trees suddenly begins to thin, and ahead of him he can see is the starry sky beyond a stretch of land that abruptly comes to an end. He throws himself off the approaching ledge without sparing another thought to it. His regrets come much too late, and his arms pointlessly flail, grasping at the air for nothing.

(I don't want to die! Not now!)

His feet stumble upon solid ground seconds later, and in a frantic scramble to regain his balance, he throws his arms out. A small smile, a tiny glimmer of hope, reaches his now moist face and finds it way onto his face as a relieved smile. He has made it unscathed, a nearly impossible leap off a cliff to the ground one hundred feet below.

He dashes off, accelerating back to his original pace and even beyond that, and he feels as though his feet have never touched the ground - like he's flying.

(Yes! Try to catch me now you bastards!)

Loud thunder shakes the ground behind him in response, and he sputters unintelligibly as his heart lurches into his throat. A new surge of speed enters his legs because he can't, won't, let them catch them now.

(It's so close now! Leave me be!)

Panic overcomes any rational thought that he has left, and this second of weakness is enough for his foot catch on a tree root. He lands face first onto the ground, eating a few leaves in the process. The boy rolls to the his right and gets up to find his surroundings blurring around him in disconcertingly dizzying whirls, a headache beginning to crush his skull.

Suddenly everything sharpens to incomprehensible levels, and the headache only increases with the jarring, sudden clarity. But he can see - especially the shadowed figures that shoot towards him.

The boy shifts into a fighting stance that he's developed from countless spars with Four and Eight, and a surge of confidence, anger, and mostly desperation electrifies his body with energy.

He cannot forget all the times he had been flung aside by the others, all the times he could find not strength to get back to his feet, all those times that he awoken to find Four or Seven hovering above him, and it drives him crazy with a maddening drive to win. He is not weak, he is not powerless!

(He will cross the distance that separates him from the others, even if it kills him trying!)

The first attacker lunges forward at him, hands outstretched, and he grabs the assailant by his arms and flings him (whatever they is, they look like male to him) fifty feet away into a tree. The second comes without hesitation, and the boy gets a tight grip on his wrist and swings the creature in a wide arc before releasing him into an approaching third opponent. There is no time to contemplate strategy, he thinks as he nails the next one with a punch to the neck and kicks aside the unconscious body. He can only fight until he is the only one standing.

(I'll win! I'll show them all!)

Suddenly, one of those glowing blades, a small knife, finds its way into his shoulder, the pain eating away at his flesh and into the bone underneath. With a snarl, the boy yanks it out with a slight twitch of his left eye and slashes at the face of the next opponent. Blood, though he is not certain whose, splatters his face and clothes like crimson ink blots upon parchment, and he shakily inhales in the metallic scent, drunken with the rush of adrenaline.

He deftly snaps the neck of one of the remaining foes and proceeds to drive the knife into the face of the final one. The latter's guttural shrieks sound almost melodious to his ears, and he nearly lets out a fit of maniacal laughter.

(Fools, bow down before me! I have won!)

And in this one moment of triumph, his mind intoxicated with glory, a hand, strong and large, wraps around his throat from behind, forcing the air from his lungs with an agonizing squeeze. Any remaining strength he had possessed during his adrenaline powered rush suddenly slips from his body, and he is nothing but powerless.

He struggles fiercely in the suffocating grip, launching random but expert kicks in the general direction of his foe. The boy's sweaty hands can only uselessly claw at the larger ones tightly clasped around his neck, his breathing growing more frantic with each second. Black visions dance across his spots, no - black spots dance across his vision, and never before has he felt so broken and pathetic.

(No! If he's going to die, he never wanted it to be like this!)

A particularly powerful squeeze pops the remaining bubbles of air left in his throat, and a wretched gargling sound that escapes his mouth makes his whole body shudder. Suddenly, he is hoisted higher in the air and turned around to come to face with a hooded figure, the face obscured by its shadows.

"Ha... you were quite simple to toy with. All it takes is prompting, and even people of your 'caliber' are nothing short of pathetic."

The boy wants to say something, scream in hopes that someone can hear him, but his soundless pleas are like bubbles floating up to the water's surface, bursting before they reach it. His voice comes out as a strangled gasp, and whoever this person is tilts his head a little higher to reveal the cruel smile hidden beneath the hood.

"How disappointing, they had said people like you would be a real challenge to overcome. You barely put up a fight, and it wasn't even worth observing. You shame the Loric name."

The boy momentarily protests, struggling as much as he can in his current state, only to feel everything crashing down on him, an indescribable surge of hopelessness crushing his being. Something within the boy breaks, and it is as though he is drowning in a deluge of incomparable despair, his chest heavy with a feeling he can hardly comprehend. It hurts everywhere, and when the person drops him, he is unable to get to feet, only able to writhe in pain.

"The other legacies... they will provide you with a taste of defeat."

It's even a miracle that he can force out any words at all by this point.

"I would know, " he quietly mutters, eyes beginning to flutter shut. Sleep, yes, sleep would feel very nice now. That's what he needs.

"Ah, you have finally redeemed yourself in my eyes! I do like people that hate losing," a male voice says, distantly calling out to him with piqued interest.

The person kneels down by him and grabs him by his hair roughly, forcing them look into each other's faces. It is a young man at most five years older than him, with an unnatural pale face that contrasts greatly with the dark shadows he cloaks himself with. Blackish grey bangs are completely swept over a left eye, and as for the other one -

(W-what is this?)

This eye, glowing with something that he cannot explain, draws him in, a striking clash of aqua and green making up the iris and further into the deary depths of a black, black pupil.

He doesn't remember anything after that.

* * *

**a/n: **Can anyone guess which Loric number that was?

I'm trying my hand at an au for this series, where after the deterioration and destruction of Mogadore, Lorien tries to intervene on Earth to prevent a similar fate from happening. The Loric Ten and their Cepans represent the diplomatic party which have come to Earth to introduce their existence officially to the humans in this universe.

Things are going well for the Loric Ten and their Cepans until one of their number vanishes - only to be followed by the disappearance of Malcolm Goode and more negotiation party members on either side. With growing sentiments of mistrust from the humans and the revelation of a ugly conspiracy, the Loric Ten must do everything in their power to find the missing victims before everything they worked for falls apart.

Anyhow, til next time!

Reviews and constructive criticism appreciated!

* * *

**disclaimer:** This is a fan made work. I own nothing asides from the plot. Inspiration for the title was "magician's operation" composed by EZFG.


End file.
